“I know. Amy, only think of the things we owe her for now—my linen, my pongee, my canvas, your two foulards, Ina's muslin, Charlotte's étamine! It is impossible.”
“Oh, dear! Do we owe her for all those?”
“We do.”
“Well, then, I fear you are right, Anna,” Mrs. Carroll said, ruefully.
The two women continued to look at each other. Mrs. Carroll had a curious round-eyed face of consternation, like a baby; Anna looked, on the contrary, older than usual. Her features seemed quite sharpened out by thought.
“What do you think we can do, Anna?” asked Mrs. Carroll, at length. “Do you suppose if we told Madame Potoffsky just how it was, how dear Ina was going to be married, and how interested we all were in having her look nice and have pretty things that she would—”
“No, I don't think so,” Anna said, shortly. “What does Madame Potoffsky care about Ina and her getting married, except for what she makes out of it?”
“But, Anna, she is very rich. Everybody says so. She has a beautiful house, and a country-house, and keeps a carriage to go to her shop in.”
“Well, what of that?”
“I thought the Russians believed that rich people ought to do things for people who were not rich, or else be blown up with bombs.”